


Same Old Lang Syne

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Copious Movie References, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Past Aaron Bass/Dean Winchester, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Pining, SPN Holiday Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 13:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Visiting downtown for a holiday event, Dean runs into a familiar face from his past in a local shop, and wonders if he’ll get a second chance at something he was too afraid to want before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this is taken from a song from Dan Fogelberg that indirectly inspired this fic. 
> 
> As always, impeccable beta work done by the lovely [superhoney!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney%22)
> 
> Many thanks go to [A_Diamond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond) and [sconesandtextingandmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder) for their advice about Jewish movies, terms, and baked goods.
> 
> All my love to the members of the Thuper Thecret Therver, where all the best creativity happens.

"Come on, Dean, you promised that you'd come."

"Yeah, but it's _dumb_."

"That would matter if it was for _you,_ but it's not. It's for Siobhan."

Dean exhales heavily through his nose, not caring that Sam can hear him over the phone, and rubs his eyes with the fingers of his free hand. Five years ago, when Sam and Eileen told him they were pregnant, he'd been ecstatic. He knew it would impact not just their lives, but his, too, and he'd been perfectly fine with that. There's nothing that he, Uncle Dean, Prince of the Piggyback Rides, would not do for his niece. And Sam knows it. He can practically hear him making puppy dog eyes from across town.

"I can't wait until she's older and doesn't want to do corny shit where I freeze my ass off."

"When she's older she won't want to do anything with us, and you'll be depressed that you're not her favorite uncle anymore. You better strike while the iron is hot."

"Hot is what I won't be tonight, because you're making me stand around downtown in the freezing goddamn cold to watch them turn on some lights."

"When did you become so Scroogey?" 

"Excuse you, but Scrooge kept everything cold because he was cheap and I am willing to spend good money on my own comfort."

"Then buy a nice pair of gloves and maybe even a big boy coat made of wool on your way to the house. Be here by seven." Sam hangs up before Dean can even argue, probably because he knows he's already won. Again.

It's not that Dean hates this time of year, because he actually loves it. No, the thing Dean hates is being cold. It doesn't matter how many layers he puts on, or if he has a warm coat, because standing around outdoors in the middle of December is bound to chill him to his bones. Once his nose gets cold, that's it. He's going to be uncomfortable for hours, and even when he gets home it'll take ages for him to warm up again. No amount of wool socks, flannel shirts, or sheepskin gloves are going to keep his nose from turning into an icicle.

It's the only thing about this time of year that bothers him, honestly, so he carefully cultivates an existence of indoor activities, like all day Christmas movie marathons -- and _The Hebrew Hammer_ , because there is a dearth of Chanukah movies, and he prefers Adam Goldberg to Adam Sandler. Not everyone celebrates Christmas, after all, and he cringes to think of how obtuse he was before he dated Aaron Bass in his last year of college. 

Dean does all his shopping online and early, sometimes months in advance, hoarding the gifts in his guest room closet like Holiday Smaug. Just before Christmas he'll get up early on his day off, make a huge pot of cocoa, then spend the day wrapping presents at his kitchen table while holiday treats bake in the oven. 

Dean loves the end of year holiday time. He just doesn't like the cold.

He also doesn't like being alone, but that's more of a year round complaint than a seasonal one. 

*******

It takes him twenty minutes of fumbling around in the hall closet before he finds both of his gloves. He has a very nice wool peacoat, too, no matter what Sam might think, but it's shoved in the far corner because the last time he wore it was for a funeral two years ago. He pats his trusty leather jacket, a memento of his dad. 

"You're staying here this time, pal."

It's a good heavy leather, and lined, but the wool will be warmer if he's going to stand around outside for two hours. He's already wearing a layer of long underwear, his heaviest pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a flannel. He adds to that the navy coat, his dark grey knit beanie and scarf, and the fleece lined gloves. 

"This must be how Ralphie's little brother felt," he mutters to himself as he grabs his keys and heads out into the frosty air. Sam and Eileen live in the same neighborhood, and most of the year Dean likes to make the twenty minute walk to their house. This is not that time of the year, though, so he makes the short drive and parks at the curb.

Sam is shaking his head as he opens the front door, but Dean ignores him as he pushes his way into the house. 

"Where's my girl at?" he calls out, and there's an answering squeal from the direction of the living room before a small blur flings itself at him from the left.

"Unca Dee!" it says in delight as he manages to catch it despite the bulk of layers restricting his movement. 

"There she is," he says, spinning them around once as she giggles, then balancing her on his hip. His niece Siobhan is the spitting image of her mother, right down to the mole on her cheek. She has Sam's eyes, though, and he's pretty sure she's going to have that same funny wrinkle in her forehead that Sam gets whenever he's irritated with Dean. "You sure you don't want to stay home? I can make cocoa and we can watch movies and make paper snowflakes."

"No, I wanna see the tree light up!" 

"Are you trying to bribe her?" Eileen says as she finally follows out of the den, wrapping a scarf around her neck. Dean faces her, since his hands are full. 

"How do you know what I was doing? You couldn't read my lips from over there."

"Because I know you," she says, raising an eyebrow at him before looking over his shoulder. He turns to catch Sam signing, even though he quickly puts his hands down and tries to act like he was just reaching for his coat.

"Tattletale," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes as he tugs a beanie over his long hair and shrugs his enormous frame into a suede coat lined with sheepskin.

"Daddy, don't forget your scarf!" Siobhan gives him a stern look, or as stern as an adorable little girl with a cherubic face can manage. 

"Yeah, daddy, don't forget your scarf!" Dean sing songs, grinning at his niece until Eileen punches him in the shoulder. "Ow, woman!" 

"Don't tease your brother," Eileen says, slipping ear muffs over Siobhan's head before ushering them back out of the house. 

_Will you sit in the back with me?_ Siobhan signs to Dean, and he nods, unable to help himself even though he hates the backseat. 

"That's fine," Eileen says, "I'll drive." She plucks the keys to the Grand Cherokee from Sam's hands and gets behind the wheel before he can even form a protest, and Dean can't help but laugh as he straps Siobhan into her car seat before going around to get in on the other side. Sam sulks as he gets into the passenger seat, but it melts away when Eileen gives him a big smile as she turns the key in the ignition.

*******

It only takes them twenty minutes to drive downtown but another twenty to find parking because of the way the streets have been blocked off for the event. Dean has to bite his lip every time he wants to make a sarcastic comment, especially because Siobhan is kicking her feet in excitement. He groans when they finally find a spot blocks away, knowing he'll practically be an icicle by the time they have to walk back to the car later. 

It seems as though everyone in town is already there as they reach the square, a term Dean always finds humorous given that it's actually a traffic circle in the middle of town. The tree in the center is enormous, and no matter where they stand they can see it clearly, but Dean hoists Siobhan up on his shoulders anyway so she can "see better." He'll probably stay warm longer that way. 

The annual holiday event starts promptly at 8 o'clock with the local high school chorus singing "Carol of the Bells", and Dean enjoys it despite himself. He and Siobhan sing along to all the Christmas carols while Sam and Eileen lean against each other, grinning in delight, and by the time the tree blazes to life Siobhan is practically bouncing up and down on his shoulders. He grips her skinny thighs tightly so that she doesn't fall as she claps her hands together in unbridled enthusiasm, finally draping herself over his head. 

"That was awesome, Uncle Dean! I can get down, now."

As she climbs off his back, Sam takes her hand. "What do you say?"

"Thank you!" 

"Good girl. Come on, let's go look at the shop decorations." Siobhan grabs onto Dean with her other hand and pulls them towards the nearest ones. There are clusters of brick-and-mortar stores between each of the four roads leading out of the circle, and for this night there are even little pop-up shops operating on the sidewalks. Dean shakes his head as they approach them, telling Sam it is ludicrous to be operating an outdoor stall at this time of year. 

"Dean, most of them have heaters and everyone is bundled up. It's the first weekend in December, it's not even proper winter yet!" 

"It's winter as soon as you can't leave the house without a coat."

"Stop bickering, both of you," Eileen says over her shoulder.

"How did she do that? She's not even looking at us!" 

Sam just shakes his head, leaving Dean holding Siobhan's hand as he catches up to Eileen and starts signing to her. It's too fast for Dean to make out, though he started learning to sign at the same time as Sam -- which was soon after he met Eileen, because he was so smitten with her. Dean does okay, but since he doesn't use it as frequently he's still pretty slow; Siobhan is already completely fluent in two languages, much to his chagrin. 

The first store they come to has been a town staple since long before Sam and Dean were even born: _Novak's Notions_ , a gift shop and confectionery. They have a huge display window that they decorate for every season, and it's as much a part of the local tradition as the tree-lighting ceremony. The last time Dean was there was right after Siobhan was born, and he'd spent two hours trying to decide on the perfect teddy bear to give her. Mrs. Novak remembered both him and Sam from high school -- there was probably one Novak in every single grade the whole time Dean attended there, all siblings or cousins of each other -- and she'd been almost as excited as Dean as she carefully arranged his new purchase in a bright yellow gift bag, festooned with curled ribbons.

There's already a crowd in front of the store three people deep, the children at the front exclaiming in wonder as they place their hands against the glass, frosted in the corners with faux snow. Dean lifts Siobhan and places her on his hip so she can see some of the display, but it's not until they can finally get to the very front that it occurs to Dean what he's looking at. It's been made to look like a snowy scene, with dozens of small purple boxes tied with pink ribbons. The boxes are animated, with their tops coming off and strange little toys popping out: an airplane from one, a red-haired doll from another, and there's a Jack-in-the-Box...

"Uncle Dean, is that Rudolph?"

"It sure is, kiddo." It's a scene from _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ , specifically when they reach the Island of Misfit Toys. He stands, transfixed, watching the little animated scene in the window, thinking about how much work must have gone into creating it. The store has always had really cool window displays, but they've all been static scenes. He's never seen anything so intricate, or referencing something so niche.

"Pretty cool, huh? This is from a Christmas movie that your dad and I watched when we were your age."

"I like the elephant with the polka dots! Can we go inside?"

"You got it." He looks around for Sam and Eileen, spotting them at the edge of the crowd and getting a wave of acknowledgement when he gestures with his head towards the shop. "Your dad and I used to come in here a lot when we were in school," he tells Siobhan as they enter the packed store and carefully navigate into one of the aisles before he puts her on her feet. Dean's favorite section was the model cars, and after that he shows her the puzzles and other games that Sam always loved, anything that he had to think his way through to solve. Mrs. Novak would always have one out on display, and Sammy would spend an hour or more working on whatever problem it was. Dean was always grateful for Mrs. Novak’s patience then, because some of the intricate, carved wooden puzzles were expensive, and there was no way he could afford to buy one. Their Uncle Bobby was wonderful to them after their father died, but he still wasn't a wealthy man, and Dean never wanted to ask for things. Having a solid home and enough to eat already felt like too much luxury to him back then. 

There aren't any display puzzles sitting out now, and a part of him idly wonders if maybe Mrs. Novak used to do that just for Sam as a kindness. In a small town, everyone knows your business. 

"Hey, come on, let's go to the front and see if the lady who owns the store is working so I can say hello." He leads Siobhan to where he can see the registers, but there are two young clerks there he doesn't recognize. Probably the next generation of Novaks, roped into helping for the holidays; he doesn't see Mrs. Novak anywhere, even over behind the candy counter. 

Siobhan drags him towards the display again, and it's just as flawless from the back. Dean wonders what it looks like underneath the snow, intrigued by all the mechanisms that must be running it just out of sight. Siobhan tugs his hand, and he realizes she asked him something while he was lost in thought. "What was that?"

"I said, I want the polka dot elephant for Christmas! Do you think he comes with blue dots? I don't like pink." She scowls as she says this, and Dean can't help but smile. It's a look she gets often, whenever she's confronted with a single color choice for something she wants. 

"Well, he has blue toenails and fingernails, and the tip of his trunk is blue, but I don't think he comes with different color dots."

"That's dumb. He should be all blue. Pink and blue together are gross."

"No, pink and blue together are purple, don't you like purple?"

"Blue is better."

"I always like green, myself," says a low, amused voice from Dean's right. He turns to find a vaguely familiar face, but only because it's so much different than the way he remembers it. In high school it was softer, with rounded cheeks and perpetually downcast eyes. Now it's well-defined and darkened with scruff, and Dean's eyes trace over the cheekbones he never noticed before and is that an honest-to-god cleft in his chin? 

"Um..." he says eloquently, and the man smiles in a way Dean knows he's never seen before.

"You probably don't remember me," he says, sticking out his hand. "I'm Cas Novak." Dean puts his hand out reflexively, realizing as they shake that he's still wearing his gloves. "We went to school together." 

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I remember. You graduated a year ahead of me. I'm..."

"Dean Winchester. I know. And who is this?" he asks jovially, squatting down before Dean, who swallows hard and tries to collect himself. 

"I'm Siobhan," she says, signing her name as well as speaking it. 

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Siobhan. My name is Cas." He puts out a hand for her to shake as well, and she does so very seriously before turning to grin up at Dean. He touches her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention. "I went to high school with your Daddy."

"You did?"

"Oh, um, I'm not, I mean, she's..." Dean shakes his head, composing himself. "This is my niece. You probably don't remember my brother, Sam, he was a freshman after you left. This is his little girl." 

"Oh, yes, I do remember your little brother. Is he here with you?"

"Yeah, he's outside. Also not so little anymore, he's taller than me now." 

Cas gives Dean a long look, from his feet all the way to his hair. "He must be _very_ tall." Dean swallows again, wondering when his mouth got so dry. Cas turns back to Siobhan and slaps his thighs as he stands up. "Well, young one, I'm sorry to say that the spotted elephant only has pink spots, but I sympathize completely about the lack of color choices. I would have made him a different color if it was just for me, but I was trying to recreate a scene from one of my favorite Christmas movies."

"Wait, you did this?" Cas shrugs and gives a shy smile. "Seriously, man, this is incredible. This is one of my faves, too. Did you actually make all of these figures by yourself? I remember you did a lot of art stuff in school."

"So you _do_ remember me from school," Cas says lowly. "I thought you were just being polite."

Dean hopes he's not visibly blushing. Truth be told, Cas was the very first guy crush he ever had, although he didn't admit it to anyone. (Well, the first _real_ guy, anyway, because Indiana Jones doesn't count.) Cas had always intrigued him, back then, though they rarely spoke to one another. His attention was always drawn to the quiet boy who seemed to be in a world of his own, whether he was with other people or not, and by Dean's junior year it felt like his eyes were drawn to Cas whenever they shared the same space. 

Cas would be sitting on the grass behind the school with three or four other people, oblivious to their antics around him. He would sketch on a large pad with charcoal, fingers blackened, dark dust streaking his cheek where he'd thoughtlessly touched his face. Dean would watch him from a distance, picturing what it would be like to reach out and wipe the mark off his skin, lean in and brush their lips together, have his own hair darkened with coal dust from those hands. Then the bell would ring and he'd shake himself out of his daydream, looking around to see if anyone had noticed, embarrassed to think they would have read his mind. And Cas would just wipe his hands off on his already marred jeans, casually stand up, and walk away from Dean's fantasy without so much as a glance in his direction. 

He wonders if Cas ever looked at him directly back then. He certainly is now, and Dean doesn't even realize they're staring at one another until Siobhan tugs on his hand. 

"Can we go find mom and dad now?" 

He clears his throat, feeling like he's been under a spell that's now broken. 

"Yeah, yeah, we can. Um, Cas, it was really great seeing you again. Are you in town for a while?" He hopes he doesn't sound as desperate to Cas as he does to himself.

"I moved back for good a few months ago. We should catch up." He pulls a business card from his hip pocket and holds it out to Dean, who nods dumbly as he grips it tightly in one gloved hand. "The cell phone on there is still good, text me sometime." He turns and walks away, and it echoes of the past in a way that reverberates through Dean's thoughts for the rest of the night.

*******

Dean rubs the chilled tip of his nose repeatedly as he drives home, trying to warm it up, but he's still frigid by the time he gets into the cozy interior of his house. 

"Thank god for central heating," he mutters to himself, checking the temperature on the thermostat even though he knows damn well it's set at seventy-three degrees. No one else is ever here. He thinks about that idly as he hangs his coat back in the closet, wondering if he'll ever have the kind of life that his brother does. It's not for lack of trying, though he did have a phase where he hooked up with any and every available and willing partner, at least until he met Cassie. That was junior year of college, and their brief relationship went a long way to settle the restless parts of him. After that he dated Aaron for two years, but he never seemed to want anything more serious out of Dean, content just to have him be there and letting him go when pressed for more. 

Dean has dated regularly since then, even lived with Lisa for a couple of years, but none of his relationship attempts ever seem to work out. He looks at Sam and Eileen's easy connection to each other with fondness and envy, wondering why he's never come across someone like that for himself. 

_Or maybe I did, long ago, but I was too chicken to go after it. Maybe I have a chance, now._

There's a part of his old self that desperately wants the chance to get to know Cas, the chance he felt he never got back then; but even stronger is the intrigue he feels about Cas as he is now: what he's been doing with his life, what happened to change him from the introverted boy Dean remembers to the confident man he met tonight in the shop. He ponders this as he changes into his warmest pajamas and curls up on the couch with a cup of warm cider and a fleece throw, telling himself it's pathetic to go to bed at eleven o'clock on a Saturday night. He flips through a dozen channels before he finds one of the many versions of _A Christmas Carol_ \-- not his favorite version, but it'll do -- and settles into the couch, hands wrapped around his mug as he holds it close, willing the warmth from the ceramic into his own bones.

He's trying to focus on the screen, but his eyes keep drifting to the business card sitting prominently on the coffee table.

The courage to send Cas a text is located about halfway into the mug.

_D: Hey, it's Dean. It was really great running into you earlier._

He hits send before he can agonize over it, but hasn't even put the phone back down before it chimes in his hand. 

_C: Was it?_

In Dean's imagination this is said in a low, coy whisper, but he admonishes himself before that train of thought runs away with him. Cas is a real person, not a high school fantasy.

_D: Of course it was. I'm sorry to text so late, I hope I didn't wake you._

_C: No, sadly I'm home alone watching an old black and white movie like a total loser._

_D: No judgement here, I'm doing the same._

_C: Alastair Sim?_

_D: You got me._

_C: He's good, but this isn't my favorite one._

_D: Same. Which is your favorite?_

_C: You'll laugh._

_D: I won't, I promise. If it helps mine is the one with Bill Murray._

_C: ...mine is the Muppet one._

_D: Michael Caine. Excellent choice. I have that on DVD._

_C: Blu-Ray._

_D: Show off._

_C: Where do you stand on Miracle on 34th Street?_

_D: Natalie Wood version all the way, non-colorized._

_C: Same. I can appreciate the work that goes into doing that but it just feels inauthentic?_

_D: Right, and it just feels like they're trying to improve on a thing that doesn't need to be improved._

It happens so easily that two hours pass before either of them notices, and before Cas begs off for the night he invites Dean for brunch the next morning. Dean crawls into bed with a huge smile, and it's still there when he finally falls asleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his good feeling about the previous night's conversation, Dean feels nervous as he parks behind the local diner, taking several deep breaths before he exits the vehicle. He walks swiftly across the lot and ducks into the side entrance, taking a moment to breathe in the warm air of the vestibule and collect himself before he enters the dining area. It's busy but not yet crowded, at the sweet spot between the Sunday shoppers and the after-church crowd, and he's grateful to see a free booth being bused on the other side of the restaurant. 

The waitress wiping the table down gives him a smile as he approaches, telling him to have a seat while she grabs a couple of fresh place settings, and he slides into the opposite side so he can watch both entrances. He asks for a cup of coffee while he waits, though it's probably not going to help the jittery bounce of his knee under the table as he wonders what he should talk about. Should he have a few topics ready, just in case the conversation stalls? It hadn't last night while they were texting about their favorite holiday movies, but what if they don't have anything else in common? 

"Hello, Dean." He looks up, startled, as Cas slides into the booth across from him. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"No, man, it's fine. I was only a couple of minutes early, you're good." Cas gives him a small smile, unwrapping his scarf once before turning to the waitress as she brings them menus. Whatever he says to her is lost on Dean, because he's too busy watching the way Cas slowly pulls one side of the scarf with both hands, dragging it over the back of his neck and letting it pool in his lap. Such a simple gesture, yet so sensual. His eyes are drawn to that throat, to the adam's apple working under the faint shadow of stubble, then follow the profile line of the jaw until Cas finishes speaking and turns back to him as the waitress walks away. Dean makes a show of opening his menu as though he hadn't been closely studying the effect of fifteen years on a face he used to dream about. Neither of them speak as they peruse their menus, and after the waitress returns with coffee for Cas and takes their orders they're finally left with nothing to do but regard each other over an expanse of faded wood veneer. 

"I won't bite, you know," Cas says casually, and Dean almost says _that's a damn shame_ before he course corrects and shakes his head with a grin.

"It's just that we talked for so long last night that now I'm worried we won't have anything to say to each other. I'm afraid I'm not very interesting."

Cas regards him for a moment, stirring the sugar and cream he added into his coffee, then tapping the spoon against his cup and laying it to the side without shifting his gaze. Dean tries not to squirm in his seat. High school Cas had stirred his blood without ever glancing in his direction, and he'd thought it was obvious to everyone then. The way this Cas looks at him, direct and unabashed, makes him feel like that teenage boy all over again. 

"Let me be the judge of that," Cas finally says, eyes shifting to his coffee as he lifts the mug to his lips. "Tell me what you've been doing with yourself since our school days."

The tone is innocuous but the words ring of command, and Dean clears his throat before he slips and says _yes, sir_. Instead he talks about college, how surprised he was to find himself there when he never imagined he'd be able to go. 

"Sam and I didn't have much growing up, and when our Uncle Bobby took us in I was so grateful that I never asked for anything from him, never planned anything. I felt like he saved us from going into foster care, and I didn't want to risk that by asking for too much or making myself seem like a burden."

"Did he ever treat you like you were?"

"No, never. I think it was just one of those weird superstitions that works its way into your head when you're a kid, like not stepping on the the sidewalk cracks. I don't want to speak ill of the dead, or dredge up unpleasant family history, but our father wasn't the best role model." The passage of time and a lot of reflection help Dean look back on his father with sympathy and regret. John Winchester had been unprepared when his young wife died in a house fire, and he wasn't the type of man who admitted to having emotions like grief or guilt. Years of self-medicating with alcohol helped him mitigate his pain, but it distanced him from his sons until it eventually led to the car accident that killed him. "When the college brochures started coming in the mail I would just throw them in the trash; I wasn't a scholarship level genius, and I knew I wouldn't get any offers."

"So what changed?"

"Bobby sat me down at the table one night after Sam had gone to bed and said we needed to talk. Even gave me a beer. Then pulled every brochure I'd thrown away out of one of the kitchen drawers and said he wanted to help me understand my options." 

"You're kidding." 

"Nope. He'd even made notes on a lot of them. I tried to protest, and he just shut me up with a look. Then he explained to me that there was insurance money from our parents, set aside for me and Sam in our names, and that I'd have access to mine when I turned eighteen. He’d been holding it in trust for us for years."

"And you actually used it to go to college? You didn't throw it all away on something stupid?" Dean looks sheepish and squirms in his seat. "Okay, you did _something_ stupid, in addition to paying for tuition. Spill."

"Well, I did spend some of it to rebuild my dad's old car, a 1967 Chevy Impala. Bobby had it in the salvage yard, but he'd never been able to bring himself to scrap her. I'd track down parts while I was away at school, and when I came home during breaks I would work on her with his help. Finally got her back on the road just in time for graduation, and I'm still driving her. She's parked out back, actually."

Cas stares at him for a long minute, the expression on his face unreadable, and Dean holds his breath.

"I thought you said you weren't very interesting." He crosses his arms, leaning into them across the table, and Dean freezes under the weight of that stare. "You clearly don't know yourself very well." 

"Yeah, well," he rubs the back of his neck. "You'll probably get bored with me eventually. Everyone does." Cas looks like he's about to say something, so Dean deflects as quickly as he can. "What about you, you said you just moved back?" Cas huffs in defeat, knowing the change of subject for what it is and leaning back against the bench.

"It's weird, because I always told myself I wouldn't. That I would go to art school and travel the world or something; but in the end I majored in business management, told myself it was just so I could help Mom with the store because I didn't have to physically be here to advise her or handle the books. She never needed my help, though, she's always been capable of handling herself, even before my dad left."

"So what changed?" 

"She got sick. Cancer." He puts up a hand as Dean sits up straight in alarm. "She's much better now, I swear, but she had to have surgery and treatment and it was very hard on her. It's been about eight months, and she's come a long way, and eventually she'll be fine. My other brothers are kind of dicks, so I came here to be with her and take over most of the store, though a couple of my cousins decided to join me. Gabriel runs the candy side of things, and Balthazar handles all the staffing and training. Most of the time I'm in the office."

"When you're not making kick ass store displays." Cas actually ducks his head and blushes, and Dean is struck by how much of the boy he knew is in the man before him in that moment. 

"Yes, well. I still love to design and create things. It's more of a hobby than a profession, but it's useful to the store in some respects."

"I like the idea of you tinkering on stuff at home in your free time. Reminds me of when you used to always draw in that sketchpad back in school."

"You remember that?" Cas gives him an odd look, and Dean thinks he may have given himself away, but he can't tell if that's a good or bad thing yet.

"Yeah, whenever I'd see you around you'd have it with you. I used to always wonder what you were drawing." He looks out the window, embarrassed to think about how much time he spent then, daydreaming about Cas, who probably didn’t even know he was alive.

"Maybe I'll show you sometime, if you'll indulge me with one of _your_ hobbies. Holiday movie marathons don't count, I know that one already." Dean smiles to himself, glad that's one they share. 

"Promise you won't laugh."

"I can't do that. It's not that I think you should be ashamed of anything you do, but if you tell me you square dance I'm probably going to laugh. I will promise to get past it though, and eventually come to a place of understanding and respect."

"That's rude, I could be a square dance champion sitting over here and you would have just shit all over my accomplishments?"

"Dean!" 

It feels good to tease, to have a comfortable banter with someone. Dean can count on one hand the number of people in his life he feels this good with, and three of them are his brother's family, including the four-year old.

"Okay, okay, fine. I bake.”

“You smoke marijuana? That’s a hobby?” 

“Shut up, you ass. I mean I honest-to-god, from scratch, _bake_.” Cas blinks at him stupidly, and Dean braces himself. "Go ahead, you can laugh, I'm used to it."

"No, I don't want to laugh. It's just, well, I thought you were going to say that you fight fires or forge knives or something. You did already tell me that you basically rebuilt an entire muscle car, so sorry if that does not sound like the foundation for Sir-Bakes-a-Lot."

Dean laughs out loud now, hiding his face in his hands as Cas grins at him triumphantly from across the table until he composes himself. "That's fair.”

“So how did that happen?” 

“Well, I just really like pie, so I taught myself how to make it when we moved here. I wasn't too bad at it, even in the beginning. I started making other stuff, cookies or other things Sam liked. People laugh but there's actually a science to it, a lot of precision involved, like engineering but you get to eat the end result."

"That's...rather poetic actually. I look forward to eating the fruits of your labor one day soon."

They grin at one another across the table until the waitress comes back with their check.

*******

Over the next few weeks, Dean and Cas text each other constantly. Cas is working six days a week at the store, but thankfully they're closed on Sundays -- a holdover from when the state had stricter blue laws, according to Cas, and that he has no intention of changing -- so they'll meet at the diner for brunch. It's when they have the best conversations, really, because Cas is so busy during the week that a lot of his texts are non sequitur. Despite how much they're talking, Dean feels like there's so much about Cas he still doesn't know, but can't bring himself to ask. He's usually been able to tell when his attraction to someone is mutual, but with Cas he just feels so unsure. Maybe it's because Cas comes from the time before Dean was comfortable with his sexuality, and there's a part of him that will always feel like that sixteen year-old boy around him, wanting to touch and afraid to all at the same time. 

As the weeks go by, Dean becomes certain that he's definitely into Cas for who he is now, and not as just some wish fulfillment. Cas knows so much about so many things, like a walking Encyclopedia Britannica, and he has a sarcastic sense of humor that Dean enjoys. He's fascinating to talk to, but he's also good-looking in a way that's safe and understated until he smiles, and then it's like turning the corner of a building into a high wind. He wonders if Cas is oblivious to his attraction, or if he doesn't return it and is just too polite to call Dean on it, and if that's the case how long it will last. 

Christmas is on a Tuesday this year, and Dean realizes the only day he'll be able to do all his holiday wrapping and baking is the Sunday before. 

_C: Wait, so you spend the entire day wrapping gifts and baking and watching movies? That sounds amazing._

Dean bites his lip, considering. One of the things he was planning to make was for Cas, but there's no way he'll know that unless Dean tells him. It might be nice to have company, and Cas did seem interested before.

_D: You're welcome to come over if you want, but it's probably gonna be boring for you after a while. I promise not to be offended if you take off after an hour though._

_C: Just tell me when to show up and if I should bring anything._

_D: Um, I make coffee and breakfast pastries to start, so if that's good for you just come over at ten._

_C: Awesome, it's just what I need before I spend two full days with every single Novak in a fifty-mile radius. You sure you don't mind?_

Not only does he not mind, he's thinking that spending a day like this with Cas will help him figure out once and for all if Cas is even remotely interested in being more than friends.

_D: Of course not. Bring anything you have to wrap if you want, I've got tons of supplies._

The rest of the week seems to fly by, whether in anticipation of the holiday or spending the day with Cas he's not sure, but suddenly it's Sunday morning and the doorbell rings just as he's pulling a tray of sticky buns out of the oven. 

"Okay, just be cool," he says under his breath as he walks to the front door, realizing he still has his oven mitts on when he reaches for the doorknob, hastily pulling them off. It's as he opens the front door that it occurs to him that he's still wearing his apron.

 _Too late now,_ he thinks as Cas stands there, blinking at him before grinning ear to ear when he reads _Oh, Crepe_ on Dean's chest. 

"That's certainly not what I was expecting," Cas says as Dean closes the door behind him. 

"Eileen got me this one, she has way better taste than Sam. The one he gave me is shoved into the back of one of the drawers."

"Why, what's on it?" 

"Never you mind," Dean says, thinking he’d rather die than ever have Cas see the _I Wuv Baking_ apron. Instead he takes his coat and hangs it up in the hall closet before showing him into the kitchen, which is separated from the living room by an island with bar seating on one side. The television is on, just loud enough for whatever holiday movie is on to be heard in the kitchen, currently the classic _White Christmas._

He pours Cas a cup of coffee with two sugars and lots of cream, then plates up a gooey sticky bun before placing them both in front of him. He turns away to put another tray of them in the oven and sets the timer. Dean hears the tines of Cas's fork scrape the plate as he scoops up his first bite, then an appreciative groan that tickles the hair at the back of his neck.

"Oh, Dean," Cas says. "You shouldn't have started with the best you have to offer, it will only be downhill from here." He eagerly cuts off another piece, and Dean watches as he places it on his tongue, chewing with reverence. 

"I guess you'll have to stay all day, so you can judge whether or not that's my best."

Cas eats another sticky bun as Dean joins him at the counter, sipping at their coffee while the second tray of buns, meant for Christmas breakfast at Sam's house, bakes. 

"You do this every year? Since when?"

"About ten years now, I think? It's my very own holiday tradition. I used to do a little here and a little there, but it's been about that long since I made a whole day of it."

"How are you not married?" 

It catches Dean off guard, because even though they've been talking for weeks they haven't discussed anything like past relationships.

"What kind of question is that? You aren't either, as far as I know." The hurt obviously bleeds into his voice, because Cas is shaking his head.

"No, I just mean that you seem like exactly the type of guy that people would be trying to tie down. You love holidays and traditions and you're not afraid to love things that other people think are corny. It was a 'how in the world is this possible' statement, not a criticism."

Dean shrugs as the timer goes off, then gets up to pull the tray out of the oven and pop in the first pie he's put together, pumpkin, for Siobhan. 

"I guess if I knew the answer to the question it wouldn't be a question. I thought I might get married, a few years ago. Her name was Lisa, and she had a son, Ben, and I thought we made a nice family unit." He busies himself with rolling out the dough for his pecan pie, talking as he works, eyes on his task. "She was great, and I loved Ben a lot, but it just wasn't working for her. It didn't end badly or anything, she was perfectly civil about it, but she felt that we were better off as friends. Honestly, I think she was right." He still doesn't look at Cas, focusing instead on folding the circle of dough in half, then half again, and transferring it to the pie plate before opening it up and pressing it into place. 

"What happened after that?"

"Well, I decided to move back here, since I had a brand new niece to spoil. I date sometimes, but..." He shrugs again. A lot of meaning can be conveyed in a shrug. "What about you? Why aren't you married?"

"Well, I'm not a baking god, so I've got nothing to offer."

Dean laughs a little, and it breaks the tension. He makes a cinnamon apple pie next, and Cas eyes that one appreciatively, which makes Dean grin, because it’s actually his present. 

They order pizza and take a break for lunch, eating on the couch and watching part of the holiday marathon as the scent of apples permeates the entire house. It's so easy to be with Cas, but as the day goes on he's more and more sure that Cas just wants to be friends. He keeps a very careful distance between them on the couch, and hasn't made any remarks that could be construed as flirtatious all day. Dean tries not to let it bother him, pushing down the disappointment, knowing he can let it out once Cas leaves.

After lunch he mixes new dough for chocolate sugar cookies, rolling them out to cut into snowflakes, and snowmen, and angels. 

"The shapes are for Siobhan," he tells Cas as he arranges them on baking sheets, "but the cookies themselves are for Eileen."

"What's Sam's favorite?"

"That pecan pie was for him."

"You really love your family, don't you?" He says it softly, almost wistfully, and Dean pauses. 

"Well, they're all I have. For a long time it was just me and Sam, you know? I mean, our dad was there but also...not there. Then we got Bobby in our lives, and Sam met Eileen, and they're such good people it's hard not to love them."

Cas plays with some leftover dough, rolling it into a tiny ball and then pulling it apart, only to press the pieces back together and roll it once again.

"It's not that I don't love my family, because I do. It's just that I don't feel at ease with them. Our lives are so intermingled, here, and everyone is in everyone else's business. Not just in a small town way; I feel like being such a big family in a tiny place makes it twice as hard. Maybe I'm just on edge since Mom got sick, I don't know. It just feels more and more like they love each other more out of obligation than true affection. That probably doesn't make much sense."

"It does, but I just don't know what it's like, myself." Though he thinks he _does_ know what it is to feel like you're supposed to love someone more than you actually love them. It's the polar opposite of feeling like you know someone intimately when you really don't know them at all, the way he did with Cas when they were younger. Maybe the reason Dean can't find any happiness is because everything in his life has been one of these two extremes, and he doesn't know how to find the middle.

"It doesn't help that everyone has a partner or a family of their own, and I'm still going by myself." Cas is staring at the piece of dough in his fingers like it's wronged him, personally, before glancing up at Dean. "It never seems to work out for me, either." He looks away quickly, as though embarrassed by the confession, and Dean's glad there's a counter between them because otherwise he might have put his arms around him. "It's gotten to the point where I just dread the holidays. I don't mind the long hours working in the store, that part I'm fine with. It's the two days of dealing with half my family fretting that I'm gonna die alone because I'm too weird to find anyone and the other half treating me like I just don't want to settle down because I'm some kind of lothario."

"Well, I'm siding with the lothario camp, just for the record, because you are clearly a stud." _Oh my god, stop talking_.

The corners of Cas's lips turn up, but only slightly. "I can already hear my Aunt Amara telling me how much she wishes I could find someone who could appreciate all the ‘meticulous detail’ I spent ‘so much time’ putting into the store display. Which is code for 'you wouldn't be single if you weren't so weird', from a woman who has an Enochian symbol tattooed on her chest." The exasperated way he does air quotes makes Dean snort, and Cas smiles a little before he changes the subject.

"What comes after Eileen's cookies?"

"I finally bake something for myself. Want to guess?"

"Hmm. I know you love pie, but you seem to be done baking those."

"Yup, all the pies are done for the day."

He puts the last two trays of cookies into the oven as he pulls out dough he'd made earlier, just before they ordered lunch. He grins and shakes his head every time Cas guesses wrong as he deftly rolls the dough out into a large circle, then warms up a jar of peach preserves in a saucepan. Cas has stopped asking questions, just watching as Dean spreads the warms preserves over the dough, then a layer of crushed pecans. He places a sheet of parchment paper over the top, pressing the pecans gently into the preserves before removing it. 

"I give up, I have no idea what this is, but it looks amazing."

Dean smiles to himself as he uses a pizza cutter and divides the dough into eight sections.

"It's rugelach. Holiday baking doesn’t just mean Christmas cookies."

"That explains literally nothing about why you're making it."

"My ex-boyfriend was Jewish, and his mom made these the first time he took me to meet her. I was so nervous, because I was afraid she’d have a problem with me. It was tense at first, but then she served these and I loved them so much that I started asking her all these questions. It broke the ice, and we spent the next two hours just talking about baking. I think Aaron was a little annoyed that he was left out of the conversation, actually." He's concentrating on carefully rolling each triangle into a crescent, placing them on baking sheet. “Anyway, I spent Hannukah with them that year, and she taught me how to make them myself.”

"Ex- _boy_ friend?" Cas says, and Dean looks up to see the surprise on his face. Suddenly Dean is afraid that he's made a terrible mistake, and his shoulders slump in disappointment. 

"Well, I'm bi, so that happens sometimes." He stares at Cas, both daring him to have a problem and wishing he wouldn't. 

"It's just, well, I thought when you said Lisa that..."

Dean sighs, flattening his palms on the counter as he braces himself, closing his eyes.

"Look...I've had a lot of fun getting to know you again these last few weeks, but if you're going to spout some homophobic nonsense in my direction it's better if you just leave, okay? No hard feelings." _Yeah, cuz there's no better boner killer than a self-righteous straight man._

"What? No! That's not...Dean, I'm _gay_." Dean's eyes fly open, meeting Cas's shocked gaze across the countertop. "I'm sorry, I was just caught off guard, because I've been trying to figure out for weeks if you were straight, and then you talked about dating Lisa so I just assumed the answer to that was yes."

Dean's shoulders relax, and he feels the rush of relief. "Oh."

"I shouldn't have assumed, I guess." Cas looks sheepishly down at his hands, and is he blushing?

"Wait, so, why were you trying to figure out if I was straight?" Yep, that's definitely a blush, and it's getting pinker by the second. He never realized how cute that would be on a grown man with five o'clock shadow. He moves around the island, slowly, until he's standing next to Cas, who won't look at him. The confident, assured man he's come to know the past few weeks is no longer present, because suddenly Cas is shy. Dean sits on the next chair, turning sideways to face him. "Would it help if I said I've been trying to figure out if you were straight, too?"

Cas does look at him then. "You have? I mean, it's not exactly a secret in this town. I thought everybody knew."

"I guess I moved here after that issue of the newsletter. I always thought you and Meg were a thing in high school."

Cas lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Not for lack of effort. She's still at it, too. Keeps telling me I should give her a go, so I can tell mom for sure I tried it and didn't like it." Dean actually laughs hard at that, and Cas gives him a goofy grin in return, and all of the tension and embarrassment leaves the room as though he'd flipped on the exhaust fan to clear out some smoke. "Why were _you_ trying to figure out if I was straight?"

"I asked you first." Cas glares at him, but there's no sincerity in it. "Okay, fine, different question: would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Dean, it's three o'clock in the afternoon."

"It is."

"You've been with me all day already."

"I have."

"I can't go on our first date in the outfit you've already been looking at all day, it's unseemly."

"This isn't our first date, it's just our first _dinner_ date; we've had breakfast together four times."

"Which, honestly, feels backwards, since we probably should have gone to dinner before having breakfast..."

Dean leans in to kiss him, cutting off the rest of the argument with his lips, firm and sure before he pulls away.

"Have you been illicitly eating the cookie dough while my back was turned?"

Cas just takes his face in both hands and kisses him back, confident and assured once again.

"Finish your cookies so you can take me out for dinner."

*******

Late on Christmas night, after their respective family celebrations are finished, Cas comes over to Dean's house with an empty pie plate and a gift-wrapped rectangle. Dean opens the door with a smile, the scent of hot cocoa drifting out into the night like an enticement, luring Cas inside the house. He follows Dean into the kitchen after taking off his coat, peering over his shoulder as he stirs what's in a saucepan.

"Please tell me you have mini marshmallows," he whispers in Dean's ear as he places his hands on his hips, and Dean leans his head back onto Cas's shoulder. They'd had a wonderful dinner at a nearby steakhouse on Sunday night, clearing up any confusion between them, declaring their mutual intent. 

"Honestly, I probably would have asked you out much sooner, because I had a thing for you in high school," Dean had confessed. 

"I thought you didn't even know my name then," a stunned Cas had finally responded. 

"Probably because I was trying desperately to keep it a secret, even though I was terrified that everyone knew. Self-actualization didn't happen for another couple of years for me." He'd covered Cas's hand with his own. "But I want you to know that I'm not trying to fulfill some old fantasy, Cas. I really like you, you as you are now. It's important that you know that."

Afterwards, Cas had gone home after kissing Dean goodnight on his front step. Their fogged breath had risen around them like halos, and Dean had never felt so warm on a winter's night before. As much as he's enjoyed spending the past two days with his family, he's really been looking forward to spending future days with Cas.

"Of course I have marshmallows, but I also have fresh whipped cream."

"You are a marvel," Cas says, pressing a soft kiss just under Dean's ear that gives him pleasant shivers.

"So..." he starts, clearing his throat as he removes the pan from the burner and turns off the stove. "What's in the box?"

"Sadly, it is not Gwyneth Paltrow's head, and it's technically not a box."

"I guess I'm drinking all this cocoa by myself then."

"Dean, I'm not going to just tell you what's in it, you have to open it yourself."

"Fine," Dean huffs in mock frustration, pouring equal portions into two mugs, then sprinkling mini marshmallows into them before spooning generous dollops of whipped cream on top. "Here, let's go sit on the couch." _It's a Wonderful Life_ is playing on the TV at low volume as they make themselves comfortable, and Cas hands Dean the present. It's fairly flat, a little larger and thicker than a vinyl record, and he looks at Cas questioningly before carefully tearing at the wrapping. "Is this..." he starts, but then falters as he pulls off the last of the paper to reveal an old sketchbook. He gives Cas a questioning look.

"You said you used to secretly watch when I would sit out on the grass at lunch, always wondering what I was drawing." He nods towards the book. "Moms. They never throw anything away."

Dean flips open to the first page, and then the second, each one full of various rough pencil sketches: a classroom window, a cafeteria tray, a cartoon bee, a pair of hands. Some pages hold larger drawings, most of them in pencil, some of them people he recognizes: Meg, Mrs. Novak. A dozen pages in the drawings change to ink, and a few beyond that they become charcoal. Dean turns every page carefully, seeing all these familiar objects and people through the eyes of a teenage Cas. 

Then, on the second to last page, there are more small pencil drawings, all of the same thing. 

"Is that me?" he whispers, turning to see a nod of acknowledgement from Cas. He looks the sketches over carefully, seeing himself as Cas did then, all baby-face and misplaced swagger. In one of them he's wearing his signature smirk, and it makes him cringe. He points it out to Cas. "I practiced this look in the mirror for months. I used to lock Sam out of the bathroom, and he would bang on the door and swear at me. I think he thought I was masturbating all the time."

"That would have been more socially acceptable for a teenage boy than mastering the Blue Steel look, Dean," Cas teases, moving closer to peer over his shoulder as he turns to the last page. 

Out of everything in the book, this charcoal drawing is the most detailed, the most realistic. Dean gasps in surprise, because it catches him completely off guard. It's him again, from the shoulders up in a semi-profile, his gaze somewhere off in the distance. It looks nothing like the others sketches, nowhere near as cocksure as everything on the preceding page. No, in this drawing he looks vulnerable, lost, like everything he used to keep hidden inside himself is portrayed on his face. 

"Cas," he says, touching the corner of the page reverently, wanting to run his fingers across the sketch but knowing he can't. 

"I just wanted you to know that I saw you, then," Cas says, rubbing his shoulders. "That you weren't alone." Dean swallows, feeling the sting of emotion in his eyes as he carefully sets the sketch book aside. 

"I wish I could have said something to you, then," he says, taking one of Cas's hands and twining their fingers together. "We could have had so much more time together."

"I think everything worked out the way it was meant to. There are so many trials I went through over the years. Hard lessons I had to learn, things that were broken during it. I'm glad I didn't go through those things with you, because who knows if we would be here, now? And I'd much rather have you now and keep you, than have had you then and lost you."

"Keep me?"

Cas leans in to brush a kiss across his lips. "Dean, can I keep you?"

"Not if you're going to quote the Casper movie at me, that is the lamest seduction line I have ever heard."

"You're one to talk about lame, when clearly you've seen that movie enough times to know I was quoting it."

"Could you just switch tactics so we can make out properly ?"

"No, if we start now my cocoa will get cold, and George is gonna find Zuzu's petals in a minute and then an angel will get his wings, Dean, stop nibbling at my neck."

Dean does get to make out with his new boyfriend eventually, though Cas doesn't actually seduce him until his birthday.


End file.
